Shiny
by ShadowsOnTheMoon
Summary: With nothing left to lose, Spencer makes a deal with the devil. But there's more at stake than she realizes, and the consequences of her decision are far-reaching and potentially devastating.
1. Prologue

**This is an idea I've had for a while, and I'm finally putting it down on paper (well, in a word document). It's set after PLL S3, after Spencer's stint in Radley. The characters are all from PLL and/or are OCs, but I'm putting this in the crossover section because it makes a lot more sense if you're familiar with both shows. So, yeah. Here it is. Not expecting many/any reviews for this, but I'll keep updating when I get around to writing more. This is just the prologue; the actual chapters will be longer. So, if you read this/liked it/want more, review and let me know.**

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_"Nothing is what it appears to be."_

_She looks up at the sound of his voice. After making his initial offer he hasn't said a word, and she had almost forgotten he was here. She tilts her head, taking in his appearance: crisp suit, clean-shaven face, intelligent eyes. And here she is, wearing a ruffled off-white robe with Radley Sanitarium stamped on the pocket, her hair a tangled mess, her eyes sunken and lifeless._

_"Yeah?" she says, picking at a thread on her sleeve. "How does this appear to you then?"_

_Although her tone is aggressive, he doesn't rise to it. Instead he leans back, clasping his hands and regarding her calmly through his thick-rimmed glasses._

_"You're a bright young girl," he says, earning him a derisive snort. The corners of his mouth quirk up as if he's about to smile, but he catches himself just in time. "I know it may not seem like it right now, but you do have a future."_

_"What future?" she asks bitterly. "They already think that I'm crazy. I have nothing left to lose."_

_"Perhaps not."_

_This isn't the answer she was expecting. She looks up again, not quite meeting his eyes. Most people here rush to tell her that she hasn't lost everything. They remind her of her friends, her family, her academic standing, all those things she supposes she should care about. But he just listens._

_This doesn't make her start talking – she is far beyond that point by now – but it does make her like him a little more. She pulls herself up straighter to indicate that she's interested, and he takes the hint._

_"What I'm offering you is a way out," he says, sliding a sheet of paper across the table. He sets a pen on top of it and watches carefully for her reaction. "You wouldn't be with us forever. It's a five year contract, after which you will be free to live your life how you choose."_

_She drags the paper over to her and skims through it. "Except for yearly examinations," she points out._

_To his credit, he doesn't try to deny it. "Yes, you will be required to return to our facilities once a year for routine health checks. It will be non-invasive and minimally inconvenient, I assure you."_

_She nods, although she doesn't particularly care. At this point she's stopped seeing a future for herself, so trying to think about what will happen in five years is like looking into a foggy mirror; she roughly knows what she's meant to be looking at, but she can't quite make out any of the features._

_"I'll give you some time to think about it," he goes on. "You don't have to decide right away."_

_She lets her gaze flicker away from him, taking in the dark, almost empty room. A draught is creeping under the door, and somewhere a window must be open, because she can hear the wind banging it against the panes. She shivers. This is no way to live._

_"Give it some time," he suggests, getting to his feet. "I'll come back next week and -"_

_She cuts him off. She's made her decision. There's nothing left for her here._

_"You don't have to ask me again. I'm in."_

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	2. The first clue

**Hey guys. Thanks for the reviews/favorites/follows, and sorry for the slow update. Once I get into the swing of things I should be able to update more regularly; I've already planned this out, now it's just a matter of putting it into words. So please review and let me know you're liking it, and I'll see you next chapter!**

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It's interesting, in a morbid sort of way, to note how differently the town of Rosewood has reacted to this newest disappearance. Back when Alison DiLaurentis went missing, rumors spread like wildfire, burning through reputations and charades until it seemed like anyone could have been behind it. People would say her name softly and hesitantly, like they were worried if they were caught saying it somebody would try to throw the blame onto them – or perhaps they were worried that Alison herself would appear, in some spectral form, and make one of her typical snippy remarks.

When Spencer Hastings disappeared, it was a different story. People had been scared of Alison (although some had almost liked her) and there were more than a few people who were secretly happy to see her gone. Nobody thought that about Spencer. People had genuinely loved her, and her disappearance had devastated the Rosewood community. Where could she have gone, this bright star, this girl who showed so much promise, the girl who was supposed to have it all?

Rumors still flew, but they were tentative. The Hastings family was well known in Rosewood, and nobody dared say anything that might upset or even anger them. Still, there were a few who had witnessed her downfall, the cycle of self-destruction that had landed her in Radley, the local mental hospital. But nobody had been there the night she disappeared, and nobody knew what had happened.

After her disappearance her parents had left Rosewood, and not even her sister had been back since. It's been three months, and there haven't been any leads or clues. The police are scaling back the search, and in another month they will probably abandon it altogether. "Tragic," they will say as they shake their heads and turn their attention to other things. And that will be the end of it; her story will blend into the already dark history of the town, and her name will slowly be forgotten.

At least, that's what would happen if she hadn't left behind a small circle of devoted friends. The friends in question are currently gathered in a cafe, discussing their lives over steaming cups of coffee.

"Ezra's taking me to this art gallery opening in Philly tomorrow," Aria says, stirring a spoonful of sugar into her soy mocha. She takes a sip, leaning back and looking at her friends. "We're going out for dinner afterward, to this little vegan restaurant down the road."

"Sounds fun," Emily says absently.

Aria curses herself for her carelessness. A month ago Emily had broken up with Paige, her long-term girlfriend, and the others have been carefully avoiding mentioning it, or anything that could trigger a relapse in what Hanna has deemed 'the hexagon of healing'. Circles were, of course, too mainstream, and the hexagon meant that there were specific points to reach. Emily was currently at the third point, which meant it was acceptable to occasionally mention their significant others, but she couldn't yet handle hearing Paige's name.

"So, Hanna." Aria clears her throat and turns to her other friend, who's dipping the edge of a jelly donut into her hot cocoa. "How's that project coming along?"

"Project?" Hanna echoes, swallowing a mouthful of donut and looking confused. "What -? Oh. Yeah. It's going okay."

For the past two weeks Hanna had been creating a portfolio to send to a local fashion designer as part of a town-wide competition; whoever won would have their portfolio sent off to the designer's New York office, and if they liked it, the outfits would be created and displayed at a local fashion show next month.

"Your enthusiasm is infectious," Emily teases, expecting Hanna to shoot back some sharp yet friendly retort.

But Hanna just hangs her head, breaking pieces off her donut and crushing them into crumbs. She scatters them on her plate, obviously deep in thought. Aria knows what she's going to say a second before the words tumble from her mouth. "It's been three months. Shouldn't we have heard something by now?"

There's no need to elaborate. The others know what she's talking about. It's been three months since any of them has heard anything from Spencer. The last time they'd had any definite news had been the night they'd been told she was in Radley. Aria remembers it well; she'd been in Ezra's apartment, settling down to watch one of her favorite old movies, when Emily had called her and broken the news. At first Aria had been numb, but gradually emotions had broken through: fear, guilt, uncertainty. Even now they haven't quite faded.

The girls had made plans to go and visit Spencer, but she'd been on lockdown for a 72-hour mandatory evaluation. They were going to visit her afterwards – assuming she was still there, which the girls were really hoping she wasn't (if all was well, she'd be released after her evaluation) - but by the time she would theoretically have been allowed visitors, she was gone.

Her parents had disappeared without a word, and her sister hadn't returned from her trip to New York for an internship interview. Theories were abundant, but there were no clues, no hints, about what had happened to Spencer Hastings.

"Hanna," Aria says gently, reluctant to enter this argument for what felt like the millionth time, "we've been looking for Spencer for three months. If there was anything to find, if she wanted to be found, we would have come across it by now. I don't think -"

"Don't say it," Hanna interrupts, pushing away her plate and glaring at Aria. "She's coming back, Aria. She has to."

"I know she wouldn't leave for no reason," Aria says gently. "But that doesn't mean she's coming back. It would take a lot for her to leave us behind without so much as a goodbye. And if she could come back, she would. I don't think us looking for her or sitting around here waiting for her is going to help."

"You don't think she's coming back," Hanna accuses, meeting her eyes. Emily shifts uncomfortably. Aria looks down at her hands.

"I don't think she _can_ come back," Aria corrects hesitantly, picking up a nearby napkin and slowly shredding it. "Something made her leave, and unless -"

She stops speaking, and looks at both of her friends. They stare back at her in confusion, noticing the light in her eyes but unsure where it came from. She sits up straighter, pushing the shredded napkin aside.

"Unless," she goes on, "we find out why she left. If we can figure out why she left, and if we can fix it…"

"Then we can bring her back," Hanna finishes, her eyes lighting up as well.

They turn to Emily, expecting her to join in with their celebrating, but she is silent. They keep looking at her, and eventually she raises her eyes to meet theirs. "I just don't want you to get your hopes up," she says. "We might find nothing at all, or we might find…"

Aria and Hanna share a look.

"She's not dead, Emily," Hanna says stiffly, but she's unable to hide all the uncertainty in her voice. She covers it up by taking a sip of cocoa and refusing to look at Emily.

Emily shrugs, knowing there's no way she's going to win this fight. They all have different ideas about what happened to Spencer, and although they all want her to come home, Emily doesn't think she will. When she'd first raised the idea of Spencer being dead – after all, the same thing had happened to Ali – the others had been so upset that they hadn't talked to her for a week.

"Guys -" Aria says, but before she can finish her sentence there's a soft buzzing, then a jingling, and finally a beep. The sound of all three of their cells going off. That can only mean one thing.

With shaking hands Aria pulls out her phone and reads the message.

**Tonight. 8pm. Meet out the back of the school. –A**

"Well that sounds like a trap," Hanna says, sliding her phone back into her bag. "We're not going, right?"

Emily shoots an uneasy glance at Aria. "You know what happens if we don't do what A says."

"And you know what happens when we do," Hanna counters. "A wants to hurt us, remember? It's so much easier to do that if we're all in the same place."

"But if we play along, A might give us a break," Emily argues. She tugs the sleeves of her cardigan, agitated. She's always been one to avoid conflict, and this much tension makes her feel uncomfortable. "I think we should go. Aria?"

Instead of looking at either of her friends, she stares down at the screen, still proudly displaying the latest message from A. Sometimes A has left them genuine clues, apparently actually trying to help. Mona has been known to be helpful to them in the past, and Toby is usually a less malicious member. Maybe they're trying to help. And even if it is a trap, as long as they go together they should be okay.

With an apologetic glance at Hanna, Aria says, "I think we should go as well."

Hanna glowers, but says nothing. She knows she's outnumbered. She stays silent as the others make plans to meet at Emily's at 7.50pm and then drive over to the school together, and then only mutters a brief goodbye before slipping out the door, claiming her mother wants her home.

Once she's gone Aria stares listlessly at her empty plate. "We're doing the right thing, aren't we?" she asks uncertainly.

Emily doesn't answer right away. She pulls a packet of sugar out of the little squirrel-shaped container in the middle of the table, rips it open, and tips the contents into her now-empty bowl. "I don't know," she says at last, not looking up. She uses the tip of her fork to swirl the sugar around. "I don't even know what right is anymore."

Aria doesn't know what to say. Emily was always the optimistic one, full of life and love, and now it's like the world has stolen her softness, made her colder and more cynical. It tugs at Aria's heart, but she doesn't know how to help. After a long silence she gathers her things, says goodbye to Emily, and heads for the door. Their circle has been broken ever since Spencer disappeared, and she's beginning to lose hope that it will ever be repaired.

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When Aria turns up at Emily's house that night, Hanna is already there. The three linger in the living room for a few moments, and then Emily claps her hands together and leads the way out to her car. Nobody speaks during the drive; Hanna doesn't even complain. Emily pulls into the back of the school at one minute to eight, and without a word they get out and look around. A minute passes, and then another. Soon ten have gone by, then fifteen. Nothing happens.

"Maybe this was a mistake," Emily admits, wrapping her arms around herself and looking nervous. A cat skitters across the parking lot, letting out a faint hiss, and the girls jump.

"Maybe it's a trap," Hanna adds, glaring after the cat as if it is the source of all their problems.

"Maybe," Aria murmurs, but something feels off. It's dark behind the school, and it's difficult to see anything. If there are A-Team members, clad in their black hoodies and skulking in the shadows, they would be almost invisible. The thought makes Aria shiver, but she forces herself to focus on the practical side of things. She pulls out her phone, switching on the flashlight app, and turns it outwards. The light travels across the ground, illuminating pieces of trash – old newspapers, empty candy wrappers – and then up the walls, which are covered in graffiti.

She finds what she's looking for the middle of the empty parking lot. It's a piece of paper, fluttering in the wind; nothing conspicuous, easily overlooked if they weren't so desperate to find some sign that A has been here.

"Guys, come on." Aria leads the way across the parking lot, the others only a pace behind. They keep watch while she reaches for the paper. It's weighted down by a rock, which she tosses to the side. It looks like it's been torn out of a notebook, and it only has one line written on it.

**Hope breeds eternal misery. –A**

Aria's hand starts shaking. She crumples the note and shoves it in her pocket, her heart racing. She whirls around and surveys the parking lot, which is still deserted. Apparently none of the A-Team have deemed it necessary to keep an eye on them tonight.

"What does that mean?" Emily asks softly.

"Is A trying to tell us to give up hope that Spencer… that she…" Hanna trails off, unable even to say the words.

Aria, however, knows she has to say them. "I think A is trying to tell us that Spencer isn't coming home."

"No." Hanna backs away, as if standing too close to the note will infect her with its pessimism. "No way. She's coming back. She -"

When Hanna stops talking Aria turns to face her. Hanna is crouching down, her hand gently resting on the rock that had been holding the paper down. Before Aria can ask what she's doing, Hanna straightens, narrows her eyes, and opens a compartment in what Aria now realizes is a plastic rock. A small silver key falls out into her hand. She holds it up, twirling it between her fingers, and looks at the others.

"Okay, so maybe coming here tonight was a good idea," she concedes.

"This is definitely a clue," Emily agrees.

"Yeah." Aria swallows, feeling dread shoot through her veins and settle in stomach. "But to what?"

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	3. Tabula rasa

**Hi guys. Thank you so much for the reviews last chapter. It's great to see so many different people reviewing - although I also love it when people review consistently. I like having regular reviewers, so if you like the story, feel free to review each chapter. ;) I'm not going to say 'if I don't get reviews, I won't update as regularly' because to be honest I'm having fun writing this and I'm going to finish it anyway, so I may as well update; still I do really love reviews, and it means a lot when people take the time to let me know what they think of my story. Now, if you're reading this and aren't familiar with either Dollhouse or PLL, you can PM me and I'll give you the information you need to know to be able to follow the story (or just search it up yourself). So, as always, R&R, and I'll see you next time. :)**

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In a small restaurant in Philadelphia, amidst talk of floral arrangements for the next charity event and rising market prices and the stock exchange, something strange is happening. A couple is sitting at one of the back tables, sharing a breadstick and talking in hushed tones. The woman has long brown hair, tied in a loose braid that falls down her back, her mouth tilting up in a smile and her eyes animated as she listens to the man across from her. He has messy blond hair, hazel eyes, and the kind of smile that would make a girl fall head over heels for him. She leans forward, resting her hand on his and giving him a reassuring smile. He reciprocates, clasping her hand in his and gazing at her longingly. They seem like the perfect couple.

All of this is normal. What's strange is that she isn't actually in love with him – but she doesn't know it. She dreams about him, she thinks of kissing him, and her heart leaps at the sight of him. But this is all artificial, manufactured, produced by science rather than inspired by passion. What's even more unusual is that he is well aware of the fact that she doesn't love him, and he is completely okay with this.

He straightens up as another woman approaches, her heels clicking on the hardwood floor, her graying hair in tight ringlets and her face impassive. She takes a seat at the edge of the table between the couple, leaning over to give the man a quick peck on the cheek before turning to face the girl. She raises one perfectly arched eyebrow, seeming unimpressed.

"Mom," the man says quickly, squeezing the girl's hand, "this is Lacey. Lacey, this is my mother."

Lacey stretches out her hand. "Pleased to meet you, Mrs Kensington. I've heard so much about you."

"Likewise," Mrs Kensington says, but she doesn't offer her hand. Instead she carefully touches her hair, as if there's a chance her perfect curls have suddenly flopped, and then adjusts the pearls hanging around her neck.

Clearing her throat, Lacey withdraws her hand, fiddling with a packet of sugar and trying to hide her embarrassment. She looks down at her lap, disheartened already.

"Daniel, I heard from your father the other day," Mrs Kensington goes on, ignoring Lacey completely. "He wants to know whether you've spoken to your brother about what you want to do with the summer home this year. Mark has said he'd like to take his girlfriend up there, and I assumed you wouldn't have a problem with that -"

"Why, because I'm still the only one in the family who can't get a date?" Daniel interjects, a scowl darkening his features. Then he turns to Lacey, who looks up to meet his eyes. "In case you haven't noticed, _Mother_, you're actually out to lunch with me and my girlfriend. I know she's not up to your usual standards, but I happen to think she's more than good enough for any son of yours."

Put on the spot, Mrs Kensington at least has the decency to look embarrassed. But it doesn't last long. "Yes, well, we'll see how that turns out," she says stiffly.

"With all due respect, ma'am," Lacey says, glancing up at her from under impossibly long lashes, "I happen to love your son very much. And my family runs a law practice in the city, so they have six-figure salaries. They donate to several charities, run a benefit for the children's hospital every six months, and take on at least one pro bono case every two months. I'm not sure what your definition of _suitable_ is, but by most people's standards I'd say my background is more than appropriate for your son."

Mrs Kensington tilts her head, her expression clouding. Lacey forces herself not to look away, although she can't tell whether the woman across from her is annoyed or impressed. A few long beats of silence pass. Lacey clasps her hands in her lap, waiting for the verdict. Then, to Lacey's surprise, Mrs Kensington starts laughing. She looks from Lacey to Daniel and back again, shaking her head in amusement. "Daniel," she says, "I like this girl."

And just like that, the tension disappears. They order their food, and while they're waiting for it they talk about the news and the weather and all manner of trivial things. When the lunch is over, Mrs Kensington says her farewells, giving Daniel another kiss and Lacey a genuine smile before she disappears off to a business meeting. As the door swings closed behind her, Lacey exhales slowly and turns to her boyfriend with a cautious smile.

"So? How did it go?"

Daniel beams. "You were brilliant."

"Do you think she liked me?" Lacey asks breathlessly.

"She did. I haven't seen her take to someone like that since she met my brother's college girlfriend – and that was only because she was rich. This was because you stood up to her, and let me tell you, not many people have the guts to do that."

Lacey smiles, relieved. All she'd wanted was to impress Mrs Kensington, and now she's done that it's like a weight off her shoulders. "So I did well?"

He leans forward, his eyes earnest and his smile only darkened by a trace of sadness. "You did exactly what I needed you to do," he says. Then he folds his napkin carefully, pays the bill, and gets to his feet. "Come on. We should get going now."

She follows him out the door, but instead of heading back to his car he leads her down a side street. They come to a stop in front of a house with a low brick wall and a Bassett Hound, who looks at them with doleful eyes as Daniel wraps his arm around her shoulder and pulls her into a one-armed hug. "Thank you for today," he murmurs, planting a chaste kiss on the top of her head.

She tilts her head up so she can look him in the eyes. "You don't have to thank me. I had fun – and it wasn't quite as terrifying as I'd expected."

They share a laugh, which is interrupted by the arrival of a black van. It pulls up in front of them and the doors slide open. Out steps a short man with sandy-colored hair and glasses; he looks at Daniel, who nods, and then turns to Lacey. "Would you like a treatment?"

She squeezes Daniel's hand, reluctant to leave. He pulls her in for one last kiss before he nudges his chin toward the van. "Go on, Lace. We'll talk soon."

She smiles at him and walks over to the van. The man with glasses steps aside and gestures for her to get in; he even offers his hand to help her step up. "Thank you, Storm," she says, climbing inside. "I enjoy my treatments."

"Of course you do," he mutters, slamming the door closed behind him and taking a seat opposite her. The Bassett Hound stares after them as the van turns around the corner and speeds off.

When they reach their destination she leads the way through the undercover carpark, waiting at the door while Storm flashes his keycard to gain them access to the building. Then she obediently falls into step behind him, and he takes her through a maze of rooms, up a flight of stairs, and toward a large room humming with the sound of machines, which someone has tried to disguise by playing classical music.

Lacey makes her way automatically to the chair in the corner, Storm trailing behind. While she settles herself in the chair, he turns his attention to the technician behind it. "Mills," he greets him. "Everything okay?"

"No problems," Mills replies, running a hand through his curly hair and giving Lacey a quick visual onceover. "How was the mission?"

"Went off without a hitch." Storm rests his hand on Lacey's arm as Storm inputs a code that makes the chair go backwards until Lacey is lying horizontally. She closes her eyes while the chair buzzes to life, emitting pale blue and bright red lights and the pulses which will rearrange her mind and reconfigure her neurological architecture.

For such a profound process, it takes a surprisingly short amount of time. Within five minutes the chair is lifting her back up – only all traces of Lacey have been erased from her mind. All hints of personality are gone, all memories, all hopes, dreams, and fears. She is a Doll, a blank slate, no knowledge of her original self or her previous personalities. With a serene smile, she waits for Mills to say the words he always says.

"Welcome back."

She nods, and then looks to Storm. "Did I fall asleep?"

"Only for a while," Storm replies, reciprocating her smile. "You can go now, Charlie."

Charlie pulls herself out of the chair, thanks both of them, and starts moving toward the door. She pauses after a few steps, noticing that Storm hasn't followed. "Are you coming?"

Her voice is soft, gentle, like everyone's around here – staff members are instructed to keep their tones as comforting as possible, and Dolls never experience any of the strong emotions which would prompt them to raise their voices.

"No," Storm says, his voice just as gentle. "I need to discuss some things with Mills. If you go down to the dining hall, they're serving pancakes."

"I like pancakes," she says placidly, continuing on to the door without a care in the world. As she leaves the room, she hears Mills and Storm talking in hushed voices, although their words don't mean much to her.

"Jem wants us to do something…"

"About Tango? You know that -"

"I know. But she says it's important that we…"

The voices fade, along with the music and the noise from the machines, as she makes her way back downstairs. She smiles at the people she passes, she glides along the floor as if she's weightless, and she is blissfully ignorant of the suffocating pressures and heartbreaking events that brought her here.

"Good afternoon, Charlie."

She feels another girl come up beside her, and they walk together to the dining hall.

"Hello, Juliet," she responds. They aren't friends – she doesn't have friends in here – but she doesn't know that. She has no reason to dislike anyone, and it is peaceful to be able to drift along without getting close to anyone, without bickering or arguing or second-guessing them – not that she remembers doing that with her real friends, the ones she left behind. As far as she's concerned, she's always been here.

She and Juliet get their pancakes, take their seats beside Bravo and Delta, and settle into their routines, talking about the food and how many laps they did in the pool and the latest sculptures they made in art class. Charlie cuts her pancakes into perfect squares, popping each bit in her mouth and chewing exactly fifteen times before swallowing. Nothing seems amiss, and for all Charlie knows, life is perfect and it's going to stay that way. Perhaps, if she was still her old self, she would be able to see just how horribly wrong everything is. But she is just Charlie now, and for all intents and purposes, Spencer Hastings is as good as dead.

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	4. Doppelgänger

**Shoutout to ****T1gerCat**** for reviewing every chapter, it really means a lot. And thanks to everyone who's followed, favorited, and of course reviewed. I'm glad people are liking the story, because I've got some pretty exciting stuff planned for it. So stay tuned, and I'll see you next time. Don't forget to let me know what you thought of this chapter. :)**

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"So." Aria clasps her hands and looks at her friends. They're gathered in Emily's room, the night after they'd found the mysterious clue from A. Hanna withdraws the note from her pocket and lays it down on the bed in front of them, and they look at it in silence, each waiting for the others to talk. And they're all carefully steering away from the one topic none of them can bear to consider: that empty space in the middle of the group, where their missing musketeer should be.

"What do we think this means?" Hanna asks, pulling out the key and resting it on top of the note. "And what do we think this is for?"

Emily leans back against her pillow, holding a stuffed dog close to her chest. Aria can't help but think she looks like a child, seeking comfort in stuffed animals and empty promises. "I think A wants to help," Emily says cautiously. "I don't think we should trust her – them – whatever – completely, but I don't think they're trying to trick us this time."

"Right, because A would never set us up," Hanna mutters, and Aria gives her a sharp look.

"Han, we're on the same side here. We all want the same thing, so there's no need to be at each other's throats," Aria says gently, hoping she sounds reassuring rather than condescending.

Hanna pauses for a beat, and then meets Emily's eyes. "Sorry, Em."

The other girl shrugs, picking some fluff off the dog's ear. Her next question is addressed to Aria. "Do you think we should look into this?"

"I…" Aria squeezes her hands tighter together, thinking. If they follow the lead and it turns out to be a trap, it's more than likely someone's going to get hurt. If they don't follow it and it was meant to be a trick, A will find another way to hurt them. If they don't follow it and it was a genuine offer to help, A might get offended and start attacking them more fiercely. And if they follow it and it wasn't a trick – maybe, just maybe, it could give them some clue about what happened to Spencer. "I think we should. I mean, A's going to go after us anyway, so we may as well play along for now. And if they gave us something real…"

"It could lead us to Spencer," Hanna finishes, tossing the key up and down as if she's expecting it to spontaneously turn into a door or a box or something else into which it will fit perfectly.

At this point Emily withdraws again, her slight scowl reminding them that she doesn't believe there's anything to be found. Aria jumps in before she can speak, with, "And if we don't look into it, I'm pretty sure the curiosity's going to kill us."

Hanna nods, and they both give Emily imploring looks. She meets their gaze, her right eye twitching slightly with barely controlled frustration, and then she sighs. "Fine. I guess we can get a private investigator or something to look into it. As long as we're going into this with open minds."

"What do you mean?" Aria was unfolding the 'hope breeds eternal misery' note, looking for anything she'd missed – random capitals, strange punctuation – but she stops, the paper fluttering in her hand, and looks at Emily.

"I just mean, I don't want you to get your hopes up." Emily hugs the stuffed dog closer to her, choosing her words carefully. "We're following up this lead to see where it goes – not because we know where it's going to end up."

Hanna frowns, but Aria catches on right away. "You're saying we should be prepared for what we find," she says. "That we shouldn't go into it expecting to find Spencer, or even what happened to her."

Emily nods. "It could be anything. And knowing A it's probably something we didn't even know we were looking for – if it isn't a trap, that is."

"So," Aria says again, her eyes roaming over her friends, who look equal parts scared and determined, "we're in agreement then?"

Ten minutes later they're crowded around Emily's computer, staring at a number on the screen. Dominic Levenson, located in Philadelphia, twenty years' experience. One of the best PIs in the state, according to his website. Reasonable rates, fast results.

"Are we sure we want to do this?" Aria asks, propping herself up on her elbows and examining the number on the screen. "Once we call him, there's no turning back."

"I'm not turning back," Hanna says, and Emily, looking less than thrilled, nods.

Aria starts to dial the number, but then she catches sight of the time in the corner of her phone screen. "I'm late," she yelps, shoving her cell back in her pocket and scrambling to find her boots. "I was meant to be at Ezra's fifteen minutes ago."

"Do you want us to call the number?" Hanna asks, watching Aria tug her boots on and quickly lace them up.

Aria looks up, hesitant. "Yeah," she says after a moment, "call it. Let me know what happens."

"Of course," Hanna assures her, already dialling the number.

When Aria shows up to Ezra's apartment, he seems somewhat startled to see her. But he steps back, opening the door wider so she can come in, and offers her a cup of coffee. While he makes it she sits on the couch, trying not to worry about Emily and Hanna and the PI… and Spencer. There's a knotted ball of nerves and stress in her stomach, and it feels even heavier every time she thinks of her missing best friend. She's not sure how much longer it will be until it causes her to collapse completely.

"You seemed surprised to see me," she comments as Ezra sets two cups of coffee down in front of her and sits down beside her.

"What?" he asks, and she can't help but think that he seems a little jumpy. "No, I just lost track of the time."

"So you didn't notice I was late?" she says, stirring sugar into her coffee. Then she clasps the cup in her hands; the warmth is strangely comforting.

"No. But I guess that means we have some time to make up for," he says, leaning towards her.

The shivers she feels as his lips meet hers make the ache of missing Spencer dull a little, but even a passionate make-out session isn't enough to clear her mind entirely. She pulls away as her phone goes off, giving him an apologetic look as she flips it open to read the message.

**Called the PI. Meeting w/ him 2night. – Hanna**

**Good luck! **she types back quickly, then turns back to Ezra.

"Everything okay?" he asks.

"Yeah." She feels a twinge of guilt at the thought of lying to him, but she knows it wouldn't help to tell him they're looking into this. She doesn't want him involved in any of this A mess, and that means she has to keep him at a distance. But if it's the only way to guarantee his safety, she figures it's worth it. "Come on. We should get going if we want to make our reservations."

The drive to Philly is quiet but not uncomfortable. The radio plays softly in the background, and Ezra and Aria talk about neutral topics like the news and the weather. A couple of times he looks like he's going to ask if she's okay, but he changes his mind at the last second. She's glad he isn't pressing her for details, because she doesn't want to talk about it. It's not that he doesn't love him or that she doesn't trust him; it's simply that every time she brings up Spencer, she feels an unpleasant swirling of emotions, and she doesn't want that to ruin her night.

The thought makes her feel upset with herself. Spencer is missing, maybe hurt or even dead, and here she is feeling sorry for herself because thinking about her might detract from her date night. When they pull up to the restaurant she still feels slightly disgusted with herself, so she follows Ezra inside and sits down at their table without a word.

Ezra waits until the waitress has taken their order, and then he says hesitantly, "Have I… done something?"

"What?" She draws her attention away from the tablecloth, which is decorated with an intricate pattern of birds and flowers. "Why would you ask that?"

"You just seem kind of… cold." He narrows his eyes, like he's trying to figure her out, and she looks away, hoping that will dissuade him from asking further questions. "Aria. Is something bothering you?"

Unfortunately, she's been with him long enough to be able to tell when he's not going to let a subject drop. He's not going to back off until she opens up, so she takes a deep breath and says, "It's just… I was thinking about Spencer."

His face softens immediately and he reaches out to take her hand. "I'm sorry," he says, for about the thousandth time in three months.

She squeezes his hand, but even the physical contact isn't enough to settle her stomach. "Thanks."

"Have you managed to get onto Melissa yet?"

When Spencer went missing the entire Hastings family had disappeared from Rosewood, and the girls haven't been able to get in touch with any of them. They've tried contacting Jason and Melissa a few times, but they haven't returned any of their calls.

"No," she says. _They're all gone_. And as much as she hates to admit it, there's a small part of her that is half-convinced none of them are ever coming back again.

Ezra doesn't say 'It will be okay' or 'You'll get through this', because he knows her better than that. This is the second friend she's lost, and all the uplifting speeches and pointless promises in the world aren't going to be enough to help. The year Alison was missing had been hell for Aria, and she hadn't even been in the country. This time is so much worse, not only because she's closer to Spencer than she was to Alison, but also because she's had to stay in Rosewood, and deal with the 'Do you know where she went?' and 'Do you think she's coming back?' – and that's just from her peers. The reporters are so much worse.

"And the police still have no leads?" Ezra continues.

"Nothing new," Aria confirms, feeling her heart sink even as she says it. Just admitting that the police are stumped makes her feel hopeless; if they can't find her, what chance does Aria have? She's just a teenage girl. If love alone were enough to bring her back, Spencer would already be here. But when it comes to facts and evidence, the odds are stacked against her.

In an effort not to let herself wallow too much, Aria steers conversation back towards Ezra, asking him about how Malcolm's doing. She knows Ezra notices the clumsy attempt to change the topic of conversation, but he's tactful enough not to bring it up. He talks about Malcolm's new karate class, and how Maggie's got a job in Rosewood, and Aria does her best to be interested in his seemingly normal life.

But all throughout dinner, Spencer is on her mind. She can't stop thinking about the key A left, and what it could be for. What if it helps them find her? What if it's a setup? What if _A_ had something to do with Spencer's disappearance?

She's thinking about her so much that when she steps out the door and sees a tall brunette across the street, achingly familiar in the way she looks and moves, she thinks she's imagining it. She's seeing what she wants to see, she misses her friend so much that any person whose features even vaguely resemble hers _becomes_ her. The differences - green eyes or a stockier build or mismatched shoes, the likes of which Spencer would never be caught dead in - become insignificant.

But even through that filter of logic, there's no denying that the girl across the road looks exactly like her missing best friend. Hardly aware of what she's doing, caught in a confused trance, Aria hurries across the road. Ezra calls out behind her, but his voice is almost lost in the roar of traffic. She keeps her eyes locked on the girl ahead, not consciously letting herself hope but still being driven by painful desire. What if it's Spencer? What if, all this time, she's been hiding this close to them?

Her heart is beating faster and her legs start to move more quickly. The girl is too far away for her to call out, so she weaves through the crowd and struggles to catch up. But she's apparently hit pedestrian rush hour in Philly, because she finds herself being swept along in the tide of people, and by the time the sidewalk clears there's no one ahead of her who even remotely looks like Spencer. She spins in a desperate circle, but the girl is long gone.

After a few minutes she feel someone come up beside her, and she turns to see Ezra looking at her in concern. Without a word she crumbles into his embrace, burying her face in his shoulder and trying not to cry. Even though there's really no chance that girl was actually Spencer, for a moment she'd thought she was. And now it feels like she's losing her all over again.

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	5. Spirits and secrets

**Hi all. Thanks so much for the reviews last chapter. Special shout-out to ****T1gerCat**** for the constructive criticism, I'll definitely take that on board. And another one to ****insertnameherex**** for getting into Dollhouse - it's one of my favorite shows and it makes me excited to know someone watched it due to my recommendation.**

Now, to answer some questions: this is a direct PLL/Dollhouse crossover, so all characters from both series exist. But since they're so far away (California versus Pennsylvania) the Dollhouse characters may not make any/many appearances. Also, yes, Toby is really dead, and you will find out more about what happened later on.

**And now, here is the next chapter. It might be a bit confusing, but I hope you'll stick with it anyway. Hit me with your thoughts and theories, and I'll see you next time!**

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As Charlie is quietly cutting slices of watermelon into even smaller pieces, a tall man approaches the table. He has a beard that seems to be a slightly different shade than his hair, and his eyes are slightly unfocused, but his smile is friendly.

"Good morning, Rupert," says Juliet politely, setting her fork down beside her plate of pancakes to greet the newcomer.

"Hello, Juliet," he replies. "Are you enjoying your breakfast?"

The blonde girl nods, her wavy hair falling onto her face. "I like pancakes," she says, brushing the hair out of her eyes. "Would you like to join us?"

Rupert looks like he's both flattered and uncomfortable, but of course neither of the girls pick up on it – emotions aren't something they're programmed to feel, or even recognize. He pulls a handkerchief from his pocket, blows his nose, and then flicks a speck of dust off his suit. "No, thank you."

Juliet nods again, unperturbed by the declination, and picks up her fork. Charlie turns back to her own plate, but Rupert's next words make her turn her head toward him again.

"Charlie, Dr Lotus would like to see you."

"Dr Lotus is nice." Charlie gets to her feet at once, unhurried and unconcerned, and farewells Juliet.

"Have a nice day," Rupert says to Juliet over his shoulder as he leads Charlie through the dining area and toward the small doctor's office.

The building is alive with noise. A faint buzz seems to permeate through it, even though there mostly seems to be no one in sight. Yet Rupert can tell, as he moves through the halls, that the rooms are awash with activity. Through the windows he catches glimpses of people: handlers undergoing further training, actives having their wardrobe adjusted or their makeup done, even a couple of scientists typing madly at computers. Rupert is uneasy, but he knows it's not because the Dollhouse is more busy than usual. It's because he doesn't know what's going on, but he's been summoned to the Director's office after this. That can mean nothing good.

"Here you go," he says, gesturing to Dr Lotus' door. "She'll see you now."

"Thank you," Charlie says, dipping her head politely and waiting for Rupert to walk off before going into the room.

Dr Lotus looks up from her notes as Charlie enters. "Charlie!" she says brightly, her dreadlocked hair swinging gently as she jumps down from her chair and goes to close the door. "Thank you for coming."

"I want to be my best," Charlie replies, taking her customary seat on the bed in the middle of the room. "It's important to be in good health."

"And even more important to be in good spirits, right?" Dr Lotus says, indicating for Charlie to take off her cardigan so she can start the physical examination. "Personally," the doctor goes on as she roots around in her desk drawer for a thermometer, "I prefer good spirits. I keep some myself in my cupboard at home."

Charlie tilts her head, and Dr Lotus laughs.

"It was a joke, dear," she says, but the girl just keeps looking confused. Well-used to dealing with actives, Dr Lotus just shrugs and gets on with her work. In many respects, this is a normal check-up, just like any an Outside doctor would perform. She checks Charlie's vitals, asks her a few questions, writes it all down in her book. But she also does things which a normal doctor wouldn't: she checks Charlie's brain activity (the technicians having recently given her something called a NEUBI device, an acronym she hasn't been able to get a handle on; it's less stressful than traditional imaging techniques, and is specifically designed to be able to test for glitches or traces of improperly-removed imprints), carefully looks for any injuries caused by recent missions (Charlie's latest one involved horseback riding, and although the client hadn't reported any problems, it's always possible that she has some small strains or sprains that could affect future missions), and asks some deliberately difficult questions that Charlie would only be able to answer if she were glitching.

She's just about to measure Charlie's blood pressure when there's a knock on the door. Dr Lotus looks up, sees who it is, and goes pale.

"I'll be back in one moment, love," she says, and then disappears out the door.

Charlie, sitting on the examination bed, swings her legs back and forth, cheerfully oblivious to the heated discussion going on outside the door. Although she's not specifically listening, she does overhear some of what's being said. If she were still Spencer she would be quickly putting the pieces together, her curiosity sparked and her determination to find the answers causing her to leap from the bed and do her own detective work. But she's Charlie now, and all Charlie does is smile pleasantly and let the words wash over her.

"… but if she were glitching -" someone, a female, is saying. Charlie vaguely recognizes the voice, but it's of no concern to whom it belongs; it won't make a difference to her.

"If that were to happen," Dr Lotus says in a low, serious voice, "then it would be imperative that she be brought in at once."

"And if that wasn't practical?" the other woman presses. "Or even possible?"

"It's hard to say without examining her," Dr Lotus says cautiously, "but the effects of frequent glitches… well, it's not good, Jem."

"Thank you," Jem says curtly, clearly not amused. "I had established that much."

Dr Lotus clears her throat. "With all due respect, ma'am, if you -"

A sharp buzzing interrupts her, and through the crack in the open door, Charlie can see the other woman – Jem – hold up her hand to signal silence, and then answer her cell. "Yes? Go ahead… I see. I'll be right there."

Then she hangs up, mutters something to Dr Lotus, who nods, and a moment later the Director disappears from sight. Dr Lotus sighs heavily, taking a moment to compose herself before coming back into the room. Charlie is still waiting patiently, and she doesn't say a word as the doctor continues her examination. Just as Dr Lotus is finishing up, there's a tentative knock at the door.

"Come in," the doctor calls, and the door swings open. Storm steps through, his characteristic smile hitched on his face even as the doctor rolls her eyes. "Are you ever _not_ happy?" she asks, shaking her head in amusement.

"Life's too short to be unhappy," he quips, but she can sense the uneasiness behind his words.

Charlie, meanwhile, is as content as ever. She waits for someone to tell her what to do, because without instruction she is lost. If anyone from her old life could see her now, they would lament the loss of her independent spirit, her fearless nature, her drive to do what's right no matter what the cost. All that still exists, of course, but it is stored away on a chip that would fit in the palm of her hand, and it will stay there until her contract is up. Then someone will pull the chip from a dusty shelf, clean it gently, and then slide it back into her mind, letting her memories fill the empty spaces and her feelings seep through her blood. There's no guarantee everything will connect, but she knew the risks when she signed her life away. Besides, that's Spencer's problem, not Charlie's.

And at the moment it isn't of concern to either Storm or Dr Lotus, who withdraw to a corner of the room, quietly telling Charlie to wait there for a moment, and then they begin a heated conversation. Dr Lotus keeps waving a piece of paper around, but Charlie is too far away to see what's written on it or hear what they're saying – not that it would mean a thing to her anyway.

Finally the two move apart; Dr Lotus is worked up, and she keeps gesturing with her hands, clearly frustrated. Storm is trying unsuccessfully to placate her, and eventually he just shrugs and says, "So, are you finished here?"

Dr Lotus takes a deep breath, consults her charts, and says, "Not yet."

"Well, I do need to take Charlie for her treatment soon," he says, back to his usual cheerful self. "So I'll just wait here out of your way while you continue."

"No, you'll wait outside," Dr Lotus says firmly, placing her piece of paper on the desk and then ushering Storm out of the way. He lets her lead him out, although he does mumble something about protocol and active-handler bonding.

Charlie's eyes drift around the room; she may be devoid of memories and many human emotions, but even actives get bored. Her gaze falls upon the piece of paper Dr Lotus left on the desk; it's upside down, but she can still read some of it. Out of idle curiosity, she scans the page. A lot of it doesn't make sense, but a couple of phrases sound out: _Rosewood, Pennsylvania; high school student; experimental treatment; due for a check-up soon._

Before she can read much more, Dr Lotus comes back. A thin smile plastered on her face. She sees Charlie looking at the paper and quickly scoops it up, filing it away in a folder under her desk and doing her best to seem nonchalant. "Now, where were we?" she asks, clapping her hands together.

Five minutes later the check-up is complete, and Dr Lotus calls Storm in to give her a rundown.

"She's doing quite well," Dr Lotus reports, while Charlie sucks on a raspberry-flavored lollipop and looks absently around the room. "A slight injury to her left ankle, nothing major, just don't let her do anything too strenuous. All brain scans came back normal, vitals functioning perfectly. All in all, nothing to worry about."

"It took you twenty minutes to come up with that?" Storm says, raising an eyebrow.

"I don't do things by halves," Dr Lotus says reprovingly. "And you shouldn't either."

"Hey," Storm says, mock-offended. "If you're talking about that mix-up with the lab samples, that was _one_ time, and I was working under duress -"

"All right, all right!" Dr Lotus interrupts, holding up her hands to get him to stop babbling. "I have other patients to see. I don't need to hear your rambling anymore."

Storm huffs, but assents. "Come on, Charlie," he says, walking over to her and offering his hand to help her hop off the bed. "It's time for your treatment."

"I enjoy my treatments," Charlie says automatically, and follows him down the hall, her head swimming with facts that hold a significance she could never begin to understand. If she'd been Spencer she would be able to start putting the pieces together and solving the mystery she doesn't even know is there; but Charlie has no interest in that, and is content to simply while her hours away drifting through life in between her treatments, blissfully unaware of the mess she left behind and the even bigger mess she's become entangled in since then.

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End file.
